The Glass Kingdom
by Relena's Glam Squad
Summary: Forbidden romances. Castles and kingdoms. Knights. Princesses. Princes in disguise. And... a wandering samurai? This could only be another off-kilter epic by Relena's Glam Squad! Fantasy AU (obvs). Multiple pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**The Glass Kingdom**

 **A fantasy epic by Relena's Glam Squad**

 _The Sanc Kingdom_

The silver moon hung high in the sky, surrounded by glittering stars that appeared to prance against its dark, silken canopy. But the starry sight was nothing compared to the castle gardens below, bedecked with flickering torches and streams of gauzy fabric draped between pillars. Lively music drifted from inside the castle walls, filling the air with cheery strings. Thorny bushes drooped heavily with blooming roses, their sweet, intoxicating scent far surpassing any of the spirits the party guests could enjoy.

Princess Relena Peacecraft slipped off her silk slippers and allowed her feet to press against the cool stones that lined the paths through the garden. If the rest of her body had to be confined for the night - from the tiara fastened to her wound up hair to the corset that cinched her middle - at least, for this blissful instant, her feet could be free. Relena relished in the forbidden pleasure, stepping into the plush grass beyond the stones and wiggling her toes in it as she examined her rose bushes. The flowers had only recently burst into a stunning display, just in time for the summer solstice, as if their bloom alone heralded its arrival. Relena inhaled deeply, and memories both sweet and sorrowful filled her mind as the cherished, familiar scent invaded her nostrils.

The roses came year after year, comforting and reliable, a constant companion in a life that was sometimes more bitter than sweet. Her mother had loved them, too; she'd even claimed that the rose garden was her favorite place in all the kingdom.

Reality stung like a thorn on one of the pretty bloom's branches, but Relena chased any unpleasant thoughts away, determined to take advantage of her brief respite from the party. After all, it was rare she should enjoy a moment all to herself, no matter the time of day or occasion.

And she was enjoying it greatly, until she felt a tug on one of her gossamer sleeves.

"Going somewhere?"

She chuckled softly at the sound of the tenor, glad, at least, of who it belonged to.

"I was trying to," she sighed without turning around.

"You'll only end up disappointing your guests," he responded, and Relena swore she could practically hear him smirk. "And we can't have _that_."

Finally Relena whirled around, her skirts rustling in a hushed _whoosh._

"Trowa Barton, you hate these parties every bit as much as I do." She shook a finger at him in mock scolding. His green eyes, although partially obscured by his long, auburn bangs, glittered at her in response.

"True," he admitted. "But sometimes…" He reached for her outstretched hand, and pulled her close to him before turning her out into a spin. Relena rolled her eyes at his antics.

"One has to play the part," Trowa finished with a sly smile.

Relena released her hand from his hold, and placed both her hands against her throat, pretending to gag. Trowa shook his head at her.

"So dramatic," he sighed. "Anyway, you never know what you're missing out on, sulking out here all by yourself. You could meet your 'prince charming' tonight."

"Oh, again with this?" Relena folded her arms across her chest and shot him her iciest glare. "I thought we had an understanding?" Trowa grabbed her hand and drifted his finger over Relena's ring finger, his expression still full of teasing.

"Right." Trowa gave her a wink. "Unless, of course, someone better comes along before then..."

Relena snatched her hand away, glaring up at Trowa indignantly. "How dare you," she said coolly, arching a single brow. Trowa threw his head back and laughed.

"However…" Trowa moved to place a hand on the small of Relena's back, gently guiding her toward the castle. "I haven't officially asked your father for your hand…"

Relena's shoulders lifted ever so slightly in a shrug. "We don't need his permission," she said, but Trowa shook his head.

"You'd lose your chance to be Queen." Relena sighed and leaned her shoulder into his, comforting in the closeness of her most trusted friend. "And with your brother…"

Relena's heartbeat quickened. "Let's not talk of Milliardo now." She pressed her fingers to Trowa's lips. "But you're right. We can't just run away. Promise you'll ask him, soon?" Trowa lips curled into a smile beneath her fingers. He reached up and grasped her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"I shall do your bidding, my Queen," he said. Relena closed her eyes at his facetiousness.

"And do you plan to call me that?" she teased, her blue eyes dancing up at him. She could hardly believe he'd grown to stand a head taller than her, already nineteen and so accomplished as a member of the castle guard. "Queen?"

"You will always be my Queen," Trowa purred.

Relena rolled her eyes and swatted at his arm, then slipped her hand around Trowa's elbow and rested her palm against his forearm. "Very well, then. Please escort me back to the party," she said, gathering up her skirts with her free hand.

Trowa smiled at her and nodded. He straightened his posture, ever so slightly, the buckles on his castle guard uniform shining in the torchlight. Together, they walked the smoothed stone path back to the castle and entered the party, slipping in seamlessly, as if they had never left.

* * *

 _Elsewhere_

The dank cell had begun to smell. In fact, it had not smelled good for some time. The damp, stone floor was slick with mold and other growths, and the rushes in the corners had ceased to perform their original duties. Marquis Zechs shifted his position on the floor, his rear end becoming sore from sitting so long on the stone floor. Instead of sitting longer, he rose, stretching his legs and arms as best he could. The ceiling of the cell was too low for him to stretch to his full height. Zechs took two steps towards the metal bars that served as a door to the cell, grasped two bars with his hands and leaned forward, pressing his face against the cool metal.

"Is anyone there?" he called out, his voice echoing down the stone hall. From down the hall, someone shouted something that sounded an awful lot like obscenities, which Zechs chose to ignore. "You seem to have forgotten my supper!"

His words were drowned by the calls of the other prisoners, all shouting for their evening meal as well. Zechs grinned to himself and took a step back from the bars. He couldn't help that he gleaned enjoyment from causing trouble for the guards, and particularly, these guards who barely knew who their King was, let alone a Marquis.

Zechs sat back down on the stone floor, and as he settled into a somewhat comfortable position, he heard the guards roaring at the prisoners to be quiet. None of the prisoners ever heeded the guards' commands, unless they appeared at the cells with their swords drawn. It appeared that was their prerogative now. The other prisoners quieted as the thumps of the guards' boots sounded down the hall. The two men stopped at Zechs' cell and brandished their swords.

"We've asked you to stop causing trouble," the first guard grumbled, tapping his sword against the metal bars. Zechs looked up at them from behind his long, blond hair. He grinned.

"Apologies, sir," Zechs said. "It's just that you forgot to bring the evening meal. I can see that the sun has already set."

The guards banged their swords against the cell door.

"You'll get food when we feel you deserve it," the second guard said.

"Fellows." A third voice from the other direction echoed against the stones. Zechs tilted his head with curiosity. He rose from his place on the stones once more and peered through the bars. It was the head guard of the jail. "This gentleman is free to go."

"But…"

"He was able to provide payment and restitution for his crimes," the head guard said. Zechs groaned inwardly. It would seem the head guard had no qualms about going through Zechs' belongings. He wondered just how much gold he would have left in his purse.

The head guard pressed past the two other guards and brandished a ring of keys from his pocket. He stuck one particularly heavy key into the lock and turned it, the metal grating against metal as the lock came free. The door opened and Zechs was able to step into the hallway and stretch to his full height, which towered over his three captors. The head guard thrust a bundle into Zechs' arms.

"Now, get out of here," he commanded, and pointed down the hall.

"Gladly," Zechs said. He bowed to the guards and strode down the hall towards freedom.

* * *

 _\- RGS_


	2. Chapter 2

_The Sanc Kingdom_

"More mead, my love?"

The dark-haired young woman turned her head away from the dance floor, where she had been watching couples of all ages, shapes and sizes gliding along to the beat of the lively music, following the same merry steps. Including, of course, the Princess Relena and her rumored beau, Trowa Barton. Lady Hilde Schbeiker had to admit, they made quite the attractive couple. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched them dancing and laughing together, each dazzling in their evening attire, although Hilde paid special mind to the princess's dress. The skirts were ivory, with matching gossamer sleeves, but the bodice was embroidered with flecks of gold that glittered with the princess's every movement. Hilde loosed a sigh and hoped there would soon be a royal wedding, and that, as a member of the court, she would get to attend.

Hilde forced her attention from the couple to face her companion. He stood before her, resplendent in his guard's uniform, holding two full golden goblets, his eyes already holding a glassy sheen. She shook her head at him, but couldn't stop the smile from snaking across her lips. He looked quite dashing, with his long, braided hair that nearly rivaled Princess Relena's.

"You are nothing but a troublemaker, Duo Maxwell." He just grinned at Hilde and handed her one of the goblets. She accepted and brought it to her lips, savoring her first sip of the warm, honeyed liquor.

He, too, took a swig of his beverage before slinging his free arm around her shoulders.

"If this is trouble, then I plan on making a whole lot more of it," Duo responded in a sing-songy voice, swinging his goblet high above his head with a _whoop_ of glee. Hilde balked at his candor, which did not exactly befit a member of the royal guard, off duty or no.

"Keep quiet or you'll get us kicked out," she said in a harsh whisper, partially hiding her face behind her large goblet. Duo laughed heartily before chugging back the rest of his drink.

"You worry too much, milady."

"You worry too little," she retorted, sending an elbow into his side. But in his impaired state, Duo barely seemed to notice the blow. Duo gestured with his goblet towards the dancing princess and her partner.

"As if anyone is paying any mind to _us_. We're not being as obvious as those two," Duo said. He took another swig of his mead, leaving Hilde to shake her head at him. As her eyes scanned the dance floor, she was startled when Princess Relena appeared out of the crowd, her hand outstretched. The princess looked even more radiant up close, her hair curled and twisted into an elaborate style, so far forward of anything Hilde would see at her own home court in the Germanic region. A glittering tiara sat in Relena's hair, catching the torch light with every turn, sparkling brilliantly.

"Lady Hilde!" Relena said, breathless. "Come, join us!"

Hilde glanced to Duo, who finished off his mead in another gulp and held his arm out for Hilde to take.

"Can't deny the princess," Duo said. Hilde blinked in surprise, but she smiled and took Duo's arm, following Relena through the crowd into the line of dancers that stretched the length of the ballroom.

* * *

"They make quite the fetching pair. Don't you think so, your Majesty?"

King Marticus Rex barely inclined his head toward the sound of the voice coming from the foot of the dais, where he sat on his throne, his right hand wrapped around a goblet of mulled wine. His other hand absentmindedly stroked his long, white beard.

"Who do you mean, Lord Treize?" the King asked with an air of boredom, his gaze flickering over the dance floor before he returned his full attention to his drink.

"Why, the Princess Relena, of course, and her companion, the son of Duke Barton," Treize Kushrenada replied smoothly, dipping into a low bow before the King. "Should we expect to hear an announcement sooner rather than later?"

The King frowned down at the other man. "And why, may I ask, are you suddenly interested in my daughter's affairs?"

Treize chuckled and lifted his own wine glass toward the King. "The whole kingdom is interested, my liege. Has been, ever since the princess came of age. And that was quite some time ago, as it were..."

Marticus deepened his frown, disliking the younger man's obvious insinuation toward his daughter.

"The only question is, will you approve the match?" Treize paused to sip his wine, his eyes glinting over his glass. He finished drinking and lowered his glass, a thin smile appearing behind it. "Or do you perhaps have someone more... _worthy_ in mind to court the Princess?"

The King snorted, abandoning all decorum. "I suppose _you_ have someone in mind," he said without bothering to disguise his scoff. "Are you so dissatisfied with your family's reach that you feel you must also lay claim to the throne?" Marticus spread his hands, sending wine sploshing without any regard for where the scarlet liquid might land. He hoped some would splash onto Lord Treize's finely woven tunic, but the man stepped deftly to the side just in time to avoid a wardrobe catastrophe.

The younger man laughed airily, clasping a hand to his chest, although Marticus thought he sounded nervous. "Your Highness, I'm afraid you mistake my intent. I am merely concerned that the princess is happily settled, and your lineage preserved." He bobbed his head toward the King. "The Kushrenada family has long prospered under Peacecraft rule, and I want nothing more than for that to continue. We _all_ wish you a long and healthy reign, your Majesty."

Marticus slugged back what remained of his wine, then motioned to a young page nearby to bring him another. The boy bowed before scampering off with the King's empty cup.

"I appreciate the sentiment," Marticus said, swiveling in his seat to look back at Treize. The King's lips curled into a sneer. "I would appreciate it more, had it not been spoken with a forked tongue."

Treize's face reddened, and the young nobleman stammered something incoherent before slinking off to another corner of the ballroom. Before Marticus could pay him any more mind, the page arrived back at the dais with a new goblet brimming with seductive red liquid. The boy ambled up the steps and handed it off to the King, who immediately took a hearty sip.

As he drank, his eyes scanned the length of the ballroom, taking in the crowds of noblemen and women reveling beneath a rainbow assortment of ribbons and garlands. As usual, his summer solstice celebration did not disappoint. He would have been tempted to join in the dancing himself, were he not so tired.

His eyes fell on his daughter, who at eighteen had become quite the beauty, it pained him to notice. She was a woman and yet still a child, but nearing the prime for marrying age. In truth, he knew he had probably waited too long to wed her off. And he had to agree with Lord Treize on one account; she and the Barton boy did make a lovely pair. Marticus watched as Relena's head lolled back in laughter as Trowa took both her hands in his and spun her around. She certainly _looked_ happy, but it took more than that to make a match.

Marticus kept a firm grip on his drink while his free hand drummed the arm of his throne. His mind drifted to the correspondence he had yet to answer, but he had put the errand off long enough...

* * *

 _\- RGS_


	3. Chapter 3

_The Sanc Kingdom_

Relena paced across the ornately patterned carpets of the King's drawing room, twisting her hands at her breast. She had tried sitting still to no avail; she simply had to do _something._ Waiting was nothing short of agony.

Trowa had gone in to see her father what seemed like hours ago, although in truth, Relena knew it couldn't have been that long. The King simply didn't tolerate idle chit-chat, keeping all of his meetings short and to the point. In fact, it was rather bold of Trowa to even ask the King for a meeting, but he had assured Relena that the King's long friendship with his father afforded him certain privileges.

Privileges that, until now, Trowa had never taken advantage of... something Relena hoped her father would take under consideration.

Trowa had waited two full days after the ball before requesting an audience with the King, giving the monarch ample time to recover from the raucous celebrations. And yet Relena expected her father would still be in a good mood following the festivities.

Relena told herself that she had no reason to be nervous. If anything, her father would be thrilled that a Barton - and the son of one his oldest friends, no less - wanted to marry her. Relena was surprised her parents and Trowa's hadn't simply arranged for the two young people to marry, when their union made perfect sense. But, then, Relena reasoned that she might not have found Trowa nearly as appealing if he had been chosen _for_ her.

At long last, the heavy oak doors of her father's study creaked open, and Trowa appeared in the doorway. The expression on his face was unreadable, but much of his long hair was in the way. Relena stood clutching her hands together as he approached her. When he lifted his head, his face was crestfallen.

Fear, like a long, sharp icicle, pierced Relena's heart.

"What's happened?" she gasped, reaching for Trowa's hands. He turned his face to the side, his eyes avoiding hers.

"I'm sorry, Lena." His normally steady voice came out cracked and hoarse. "I'm afraid that our happiness has been... postponed. Indefinitely."

Relena drew in a shattered breath. She felt as if all her blood had gone cold.

"But why?" Her eyes immediately began to well, and Trowa looked up, his own eyes wet and red-rimmed.

"I can't say," he murmured. Then he said nothing else as he reached for her and pulled her into an embrace. Relena tried to speak, but her voice hitched on a sob.

"I'm sorry," Trowa whispered against her hair. "I've failed you…"

"No." Relena broke away from him, the injustice of it all making her heart hammer. She leveled Trowa with her most determined gaze. "This simply cannot be. I must speak with him. _Now,_ " she added, fisting her skirts and marching toward the study door.

"Relena, wait," Trowa called after her. "You can't just-"

Oh, but she could. Appointment or no appointment, the King was her _father_. He had to grant her an audience. She had every right as his heir apparent to approach the throne and speak her mind.

In this case, King Marticus was not perched on his throne, but seated behind the large oak desk in his study. The room was dark and cool, despite the heat of the day, the stone floors covered in bearskin rugs that gave the study the appearance of a war room. Indeed, some days it was. The windows were obscured by heavy dark curtains, parted just enough to allow a stream of light to wash over the King's desk, where he sat rifling through a stack of parchment.

Relena stormed in with a fight in her eyes. She stopped just short of her father's desk and proceeded to unleash her fury.

"Father, why won't you let Trowa marry me?!"

Marticus glanced up from his papers, calmly setting his quill pen back in its holder.

"He is not for you," he said evenly. His simple words rocked her, and Relena stood gaping at him.

"But… but I love him," she stammered, grasping for a convincing enough reason to turn her father's mind. Surely her own father would not stand in the way of _true love_? But the King shook his head to the side, dispelling any attempts to sway him. Relena's heart sank.

"I loved others, before I met your mother," he said. "Our marriage was arranged, as yours will be. It is the way of the crown." He glanced up at Relena only briefly before reaching again for his pen.

Relena bunched her skirts in her hands, her desperation growing. "I don't understand… why wouldn't you just arrange for Trowa and I to marry? He's a Barton! Surely his family's standing is enough to win your approval?"

"Ah, but that's just it..." Marticus finished scrawling over his parchment and once again replaced his pen. "He's a Barton. You, my dear, are going to marry a Winner."

Relena's face screwed up in confusion. "A winner? Father, the Bartons are one of the oldest, wealthiest families in all of Sanc! Who else could you mean? No!" she gasped suddenly. "I won't do it." She released her skirts and folded her arms across her chest, shaking her head back and forth rapidly. "I won't marry Treize. I refuse. You'll have to kill me."

To her horror, her father burst out laughing.

"Oh, Relena, my sweet child. You've always had such a flair for the dramatic, haven't you?" Marticus appeared to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. "Just like your mother, God rest her soul."

Relena began tapping a foot against part of the stone floor that was not covered by bearskin, glaring down at her father. He laughed again and rose from his seat, coming around the side of the desk to stand before his daughter. He moved to pull her in for a hug, but Relena kept her arms crossed. Marticus settled for planting a kiss to her forehead.

"Worry not, little one. You're not going to marry Treize. I won't allow that scheming lout near you."

Relena breathed a sigh of relief, although she was still puzzling over the situation. "But then… who is this 'winner' you speak of?"

"Quatre Rababera Winner," Marticus said with a grin. Relena's eyes widened, and though she was still horrified, she was also curious. "Crown Prince of Arabia," he added, spreading his hands. "The wealthiest heir in all of Christendom."

* * *

 _Arabian Palace_

King Zayeed Winner sat on his throne, a piece of paper in his hand. The words scrawled across the page were the source of his current elation. Finally, after many years of negotiating, the arrangement had been made.

Zayeed looked up from the paper at his only son, Crown Prince Quatre Rababera Winner, who stood just before the throne, flanked by his two most trusted guards. The young man, blonder than blond, with his shining aquamarine eyes, gazed upon his father with innocence. It was a trait of his son that Zayeed appreciated, but knew would be squashed from him before he ascended to the throne. A great king could not lead his country with innocence.

"My son," Zayeed said, waving the paper back and forth. "Your future has been assured."

"What do you mean, father?" Quatre asked, shifting on his feet.

"You are now engaged!" The King boomed. "I wish you the most ardent congratulations."

"But father…"

"You shall wed the richest Princess in the European region, uniting the two regions under a single rule," Zayeed said.

"Father…"

"Princess Relena Peacecraft of the Sanc Kingdom."

Quatre's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open in surprise. His hands wrung together while his guards glanced nervously at the Prince. Zayeed waited for his son to express his enjoyment or excitement for the prospect of marrying the Peacecraft Princess. But it didn't come. Instead, Quatre looked nervous and surprised about the whole idea.

Zayeed rose from the throne and dismounted the steps, walking towards his son. He reached out for his son's hands and grasped them tightly.

"This is the best opportunity for you, us, and the whole country. Under your leadership, our two countries will flourish," Zayeed said.

Quatre tentatively looked up to meet his father's eyes.

"As you say, father," he said. Zayeed clapped his hand on Quatre's shoulder, feeling a little deflated as his son's less-than-enthusiastic response.

"You are dismissed," Zayeed said. Quatre nodded, motioned to his guards, and together, the three of them left the throne room. Zayeed climbed the steps to his throne and sank down in the chair. He picked up the letter from King Peacecraft and read it through again. Zayeed smiled, knowing the future of his son and his country was secured.

* * *

A/N: We love your reviews, so keep leaving them! Get ready to hold onto your butts for this fic, ya'll.

-RGS


	4. Chapter 4

_Elsewhere_

Marquis Zechs desperately needed a bath after sitting in that stinking cell for so long. Not to mention the three days of travel afterwards, to get as far away from that particular prison as possible. But alas, a bath would have to wait, as he had more pressing issues to take care of- namely, the matter of his original reason for being arrested.

Zechs reined in his stolen horse near the Dragon's Inn and swung himself down from the saddle, his feet squelching in the mud as he landed. He handed the reins over to the stable boy and headed towards the large, wood door. He pushed it open and stepped inside the dark inn.

For a moment, Zechs waited, while his eyes adjusted to the darkness inside. The few windows of the building were covered by heavy drapes, blocking out the sunlight. Instead, fires in the two fireplaces and several torches gave off dim light, just barely bright enough to see where one was walking without tripping over a table or rogue chair. Finally, Zechs could see well enough inside the dim inn, and he glanced around. His eyes settled on a man sitting at a table in the far corner. Zechs weaved through the scattered tables towards the man and dropped into a chair opposite.

"Howard," Zechs said, by way of greeting. The older, balding man smiled and leaned forward over the table. He wore a brightly colored tunic, garish by most standards, and had a similarly garish hat perched on his head.

"Marquis," Howard said with a brief bow of his head. "Glad to see you made it out of jail."

Zechs dropped his velvet purse on the table. "They took everything I had before they freed me," Zechs muttered. Howard grinned again and lifted his own purse to the table. He dropped it onto the wood surface. Inside, coins jingled against each other.

"Lucky for you, I have your share," Howard said, pushing the bag over the table to Zechs, who plucked it up and stowed it away inside his coat. The heavy bag tugged down on the fabric of his coat, but he felt infinitely more comfortable with the heavy weight against his chest.

"What's next?" Zechs asked, after hailing the barmaid for a goblet of mead. Howard set his elbows on the table and laced his fingers together.

"Do you want to hear the news, first?" he asked. Zechs shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose it has nothing to do with me," Zechs said. Howard shook his head.

"No, but it is interesting. Rumor out of the Peacecraft castle is that a man applied for the hand of Princess Relena," Howard said. Zechs lifted an eyebrow. The barmaid brought over the goblet of mead. Zechs wrapped his hand around the cup and brought it to his lips. The sparkling liquid danced over his tongue in a way that inn mead rarely accomplished.

"Just idle court gossip," he commented.

"It was a Barton. And the King rejected the offer," Howard said. Zechs shook his head. "I suppose the King thinks the Princess can do better than a Barton?"

"Perhaps," Zechs conceded. He didn't care much just who the King thought would be the best match for the Princess. None if it affected him.

"I bring this up because of the interesting coincidence," Howard said. This peaked Zechs' interest.

"Oh?"

"The next job has been sent 'round," Howard said. He leaned even closer over the table towards Zechs. "We'll be robbing the Barton house coffers."

"That's bold, and dangerous," Zechs said, but he smiled anyway. "I'm in." Howard clapped his hands together.

"I knew you would be. Now, go get yourself a room and ask them to bring you a bath. You stink to high heaven."

Zechs gave his friend a dark look, but nodded. He rose from the table and made his way to the innkeeper, who stood behind a long counter. He negotiated a private room and a bath, along with a large meal, and made his way upstairs to the second floor.

* * *

 _Sanc Kingdom_

Trowa and Relena sat side by side in the rose garden, watching as the last of the day's light waned, the orange sun slipping beneath the pines in the distance. The Princess had dismissed the ladies of her court, insisting that she have private audience with her devoted knight, despite how it might have looked. Trowa was well aware of the whispers about them throughout the court - _everyone_ knew. They all knew that his proposal had been denied before he'd even had a chance to propose.

Relena's hands were folded demurely in her lap, her blue eyes pained. With her long, blond hair freed of its usual braid, waves tumbled down her back in wild abandon. She looked like more of a woodland nymph than princess of one of the wealthiest courts on the continent. But Trowa knew that in the moment, Relena cared for none of these things. She was devastated, and so was he.

Trowa turned to look at Relena, and she lifted her eyes, gazing up at him morosely. She sighed, and her shoulders sagged. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and crushed her to his side. And then Relena caved in to her sorrow. Holding her face in her hands, she leaned into Trowa's shoulder and wept.

"It isn't fair," she sobbed. "It just isn't fair…"

"I know," Trowa murmured, rubbing Relena's back as soothingly as he could, fighting to keep his own tears at bay. He was more than merely sad at their misfortune; he was terrified.

"I'll never find another woman like you," he said softly. Relena lifted her head, raising tear-filled eyes to Trowa.

"Don't say that," she cried, reaching a hand up to scrub at her damp eyes.

"It's true." Trowa's lips turned down. "No one could ever understand me, as you do." He squeezed her shoulders, his words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I… I fear I may never be… myself." He lowered his gaze to the grass beneath them. "I don't know…" He swallowed, fighting for the courage to give voice to the fears that plagued him. "I don't know that I can bear it."

How could he ever find another? Someone to whom he could bare his soul? He and Relena had spent years sharing their innermost hopes and fears with one another. When Trowa had first arrived at the Sanc castle as a young squire, dreaming of knighthood, he never would have guessed the pampered young princess in the frilly pink gown would become his closest companion. And yet Relena had surprised him at every turn. She was not what people expected her to be, and he was one of the very few who knew that.

Trowa hated to think what their futures would be like apart. To think that mere days ago, it had all seemed so promising…

"Trowa…" He looked up at the touch of Relena's hand on his face, tipping his chin gently toward her. She leveled him with a firm gaze. "You _must_ bear it," she whispered. Her other hand sought one of his, and gave it a squeeze. "We both must. This..." She sighed, her voice wavering. "This is not to be."

Trowa felt his jaw tighten, but he nodded. "I know."

"You mustn't do anything rash," Relena said, giving him a knowing look. "I still need you."

"I wouldn't dare," he vowed, unsure, truthfully, if he could keep that promise. "I will remain by your side, as long as I'm allowed." He squeezed her hand in return. "You will always be my Queen, no matter what."

She gave him a thin, but brave, smile. "Thank you, Trowa. You know my heart is yours, always."

Trowa finally smiled himself. "I highly doubt that, milady. One look at the Prince of Arabia, and I will be but a glimmer of a memory, I am sure. He is rumored to be quite handsome, you know." He let out a playful scoff. "Not to mention disgustingly rich…"

"I don't care about any of that," Relena said quickly. "My plans have been thrown into disarray now. I was to care for the kingdom in a way my father never could, to improve the lives of our subjects. It was my chance to show what a _Queen_ could do…"

"You will still be Queen, eventually," Trowa interjected. "And of a much larger kingdom." Not that she would care for that, he knew, but he sought to cheer her up, if only a little.

"Yes, but under a _King_." Relena sighed. "Now, now I will have to submit, and to allow another man to control my every move."

Trowa huffed a laugh. "As if you'd let him." He couldn't picture Relena giving up her independence; not entirely.

"I do not think I will have a choice," Relena muttered darkly, her eyes narrowing. Despite her determined look, Trowa thought he detected fear in her expression.


	5. Chapter 5

_Arabian Palace_

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I proudly introduce… The King's champion, Heero Yuy!"

Heero grinned and rotated his scimitar in the air. "Hn. I admit, I like the sound of that..."

"Hey!" His sparring opponent glared at him from the other side of the outdoor training ring. "Why does _he_ get to be champion?" The dark-haired Chinese man turned toward the Crown Prince, who stood at the center of the ring, making _whooping_ noises through his cuffed hands.

Prince Quatre lowered his hands with a sigh. "Relax, Wufei. It's only a game."

"We're getting too old for games," Chang Wufei complained, swinging his own blade in impatience. _Good_ , Heero thought. Wufei was easily caught off-guard when he was agitated.

"You're getting married soon," Wufei added.

Quatre frowned, shuffling his feet in the sand. "Yes, I know…"

Heero hefted his sword, quickly growing tired of the wedding discussion. It had no place in an arena for battle.

Without warning, he launched forward and rushed Wufei, bringing his blade down with a swift _whoosh_ of steel. Wufei cursed at the surprise attack, but brought his blade up to meet Heero's with equally deft precision. The two continued to easily parry one another's strikes. Both men handled the scimitar well, although it was hardly Heero's first choice in weapon.

The air around them became choked with sand as the two men fought, and Heero could feel his skin becoming slick inside his fighting leathers. The sun had barely risen, and yet the day was already sweltering. Heero pressed on despite his discomfort, pausing only when he caught a sidelong glimpse of the Crown Prince's glum expression.

Heero angled his head toward Quatre, bringing his blade up just in time to block Wufei's latest blow. "What's with you?" he asked the prince without preamble.

"I do not wish to marry the Peacecraft Princess," Quatre answered with a labored sigh.

Heero frowned as he stepped backward and dodged another strike from Wufei. "Why not?"

"I… I'm just not ready to be married," the prince replied sullenly.

"But you are of age," Wufei pointed out as he sidestepped Heero. "In my homeland, you would be well past your prime." Wufei stopped moving all together, his almond-shaped eyes narrowing. "I was thirteen when I wed…"

"We know." Both Heero and Quatre cut in, exchanging looks with one another before Quatre turned baleful eyes to Wufei. Heero stood and waited for the Chinese man to say more, but his mouth was set into a hard line, and no further words came.

Heero shifted his feet in the sand, knowing then the match had come to an end. He knew better than to engage Wufei when he was consumed by dark thoughts.

"That's enough for today," said Heero, lowering his scimitar and fastening it to his belt. Once it was secured, he reached a hand up to his sweat-drenched brow, sweeping his overgrown bangs to the side. They only clung to his soaked skin, and he craved a bath. "It's too damn hot already."

The abrupt change in subject appeared to work on Wufei, who looked up at Heero with a smirk. "Perhaps you should reconsider your choice of garments," he said, gesturing toward Heero's black tunic and leathers.

"It's good practice," Heero said with a shrug.

"You ought to try the local fashion; it's much more comfortable," said Quatre, tugging at his linen vest and loose-fitting pants, which were dyed a rich shade of indigo. Wufei wore a similar style, but all in white.

"You're no longer in Japan," Wufei pointed out as they headed out of the arena. "No need to continue to dress like you are."

Heero frowned. His choice of attire had as little to do with his origins as Wufei's.

"It's just what I prefer to fight in," Heero said gruffly.

"Which can be beneficial - for your enemies." Wufei's lips curved upward. "They can just stand back and let the elements defeat you, then pilfer your pockets after you've sweated to death."

Heero just shot him a glare as they walked.

"I think we could all use a drink," Quatre said with a nervous laugh.

By _drink,_ the Crown Prince almost always meant tea. Today, it was a chilled mint variety, which the three men took inside one of the prince's tents to cool off from the day's heat.

"I don't know why you're so disappointed with this turn of events," Wufei said to Quatre. They had continued the marriage conversation - much to Heero's chagrin.

The men were lounging on plush pillows while a trio of servant girls took turns fanning them. They were quite pretty, each with long, ebony tresses woven into shiny braids, and they giggled conspiratorially to one another as they set about their task. Heero found the distraction annoying, but he noticed Wufei appraising their gauzy ensembles, which left little to the imagination.

"I've heard the Princess Relena is an unparallelled beauty," Wufei added, pausing to take a sip of tea.

"You've heard the bards praise her in song," Quatre retorted, lifting his own glass to his lips. "They have to say things like that. They liken _me_ to some sort of god."

Heero gave a snort, while the girls continued giggling and whispering to one another. He knew his friend was considered good-looking, if the way women fawned over him was any indication. But, then, as Crown Prince he would have attracted attention regardless of his appearance. In Quatre's shadow, Heero managed to avoid such frivolities. Not that he would mind taking a woman to his bed; in this kingdom, one had to be discreet. Should a man end up doing wrong by some nobleman's daughter, such an offense could cost him his life.

Heero was happy to leave the marriage talk to his two friends, although he prayed to anyone that might listen they would find a topic more worthy of discussion.

"Your problem," Wufei said pointedly to Quatre, "is that you have never known a woman. You should see about _that_ before you wed the Princess..."

Quatre squirmed in his seat. "I don't think that's necessary," he said with an awkward chuckle. "Besides, if the Princess is expected to remain a virgin for our wedding night, shouldn't I as well?"

"Sure, if you don't feel the need to impress her," Heero said caustically, earning him a few sly glances from the girls at their feet. He avoided their pointed looks with a roll of his eyes, while next to him, Quatre's face burned.

"I was a virgin on my wedding night," Wufei announced.

"Yeah?" Quatre turned toward him. "How was it?"

Wufei sipped his tea slowly before answering. "Uncomfortable," he said when he was finished. "I highly recommend getting it over with beforehand; trust me." He tipped his head toward the group of girls. "And I'm sure any one of these maidens would be happy to help you in that regard..."

Wufei grinned unabashedly at the three girls, who tittered in response. Heero suppressed the urge to gag at his friend's overeagerness. Quatre's face turned a shade redder.

"Well, then," the Prince said with a nervous laugh. "I, ah, suppose I could consider it…" He shot Heero a desperate look. Heero gave a shrug while thinking of a way to change the subject.

"When does the company leave for Sanc?" Heero asked, then cursed himself inwardly. It wasn't exactly a major pivot, but he'd tried. Quatre glanced warily at him, then Wufei.

"In a month, I believe. It will take some time to prepare the fleet for the journey."

Heero nodded. He knew it would be quite the endeavour, traveling all the way to Sanc, which was in the northwestern corner of the European continent. Heero knew from his past travels that it would take roughly a fortnight on horseback. And once the company arrived in the Sanc Kingdom, they would likely stay for another few weeks before embarking for the return trip home. All told, it would be months yet before Quatre's bride would arrive in Arabia.

Wufei's thoughts seemed to mirror Heero's as he shot Quatre a boisterous grin. "Plenty of time for you to practice," Wufei quipped, gesturing toward the servant girls.

Quatre sputtered out a laugh while Heero grunted and sipped from his drink.


	6. Chapter 6

_Elsewhere_

Zechs stood in a narrow space between two buildings, his arms crossed over his chest. After several minutes of waiting, he saw a horse appear at the end of the street, its rider pulling the reins to slow the beast down. Zechs stepped out of the alley and hailed the rider. The horse came to a halt and the rider slipped off the saddle onto the dirt street. The rider wore a cloak, the hood pulled up over his face.

The hooded man held out his hand, and the two men gripped each other's forearms in greeting. Zechs motioned for the man to follow him into the darkened inn. They wound their way towards the far corner near the fireplace and sat down at one of the wooden tables.

Underneath the hood, Zechs could see a few details of his friend's face. The lips curled into a smile.

"I was surprised to hear from you, old friend," the man said. "The rumors…" Zechs waved a hand, dismissing the remark.

"You were never one to believe such gossip," Zechs said, his mouth set in a hard line. His friend shrugged a shoulder.

"Tell me, then… what is the truth?"

"There's nothing to the truth," Zechs said. "It was a disagreement, and it severed a relationship."

"So you had nothing to do with her death?"

"Of course not!" Zechs cried, indignant. He held up his hands and shook his head. "This is not why I asked you to meet me."

His friend leaned forward, his elbows propped on the table. He laced his fingers together and smiled.

"Ah yes. Please, enlighten me."

"I have a job, and I thought you might be interested," Zechs said. In spite of the shadows of the cloak, Zechs thought he saw surprise on his friend's face.

"Like the old days?" Zechs nodded.

"But with a bigger reward." His friend sighed and shook his head beneath the hood.

"I can't join you, old friend. My reputation would be at stake. And yours. You should return home. Make amends."

"I can't," Zechs said. He sighed and rose up from the table. "If that's your answer, we're done here." The hooded man rose and nodded, holding out a hand. Zechs gripped his palm for a moment, wishing life could be more like the old days. But things were different now, and the times had changed.

"Farewell," the hooded man said and turned away. He walked through the inn and left through the door. Zechs watched after him before sinking back onto the bench.

Zechs sat in silence contemplation for a while, occasionally sipping from a goblet of mead. The door to the Dragon's Inn opened a few times, and each time, Zechs snapped his head up, searching for a familiar face. It wasn't until later that Howard finally stepped through the door, followed by a woman.

A woman?

Zechs rose and waited while Howard and the woman made their way towards him. Howard sat down at the table and motioned towards the woman. She appeared to be young, with short dark hair. She wore men's clothing, with a heavy cloak around her shoulders, the hood thrown back. Her dark eyes sparkled in the dim light.

"Who is this?" Zechs asked.

"Your expert lock picker," Howard said, grinning up at the woman. Zechs blinked. "Lu Noin, this is Marquis Zechs."

The woman's eyebrows rose. "Marquis, huh?" she asked, skepticism obvious in her voice. Zechs forced a smile.

"You can just call me Zechs," he said. The woman let out a laugh.

"Thank you for the permission," she said, and she sat down at the table. Zechs stared at her a moment, then followed suit and sat down at the table. He resumed sipping his mead while the other two ordered drinks.

"I didn't think a woman would be an expert lock pick," Zechs said, trying to keep his voice light instead of accusing. This woman seemed to have a sharp tongue. She smiled.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, and likely never will," she said. "Just don't underestimate my abilities."

"I told you I would find you the best, and Noin is the best," Howard said. "I have one other contact I'd like to involve, and your team will be complete." Zechs nodded, his eyes trailing back to the woman, who was delicately drinking from her goblet of mead. She lifted her eyes and met his. She flashed a smile. For a moment, Zechs felt as if lightning passed through his body, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Who was this woman?

* * *

 _A/N: Who, indeed? Thank you to all the reviewers so far! We love seeing your predictions, so keep 'em coming! :D More to come, soon... and Happy Halloween!_

 _\- RGS_


	7. Chapter 7

_Sanc Kingdom_

Days after Trowa's fateful meeting with the King, Relena was still despondent. It was quite the task for her maidservants to rouse her from bed each morning, and today was no different. The balmy summer weather and birds chirping in her garden served as nothing but a rude awakening for the Princess. She had dreamt, once again, of her wedding day, only her bridegroom was Trowa - as he should have been. But it was not to be, she reminded herself, and reality was more bitter than the herbs in her morning tea.

After a halfhearted attempt at breakfast, Relena joined her ladies-in-waiting in the garden. It was far too lovely a day to be cooped up indoors, Lady Hilde had insisted; although taking their needlework outside did little to endear Relena to the tedious task that she had yet to learn to enjoy. She would have rather spent the day astride her trusty steed, Pagan, who was still a spirited companion despite his advancement in years. Surely a nice, long ride would clear her head. But alas, the Princess had other duties to attend to...

As Relena settled in her usual chair outside, she glanced about the group of ladies. One of them, the sole redhead in their court who was known for her enviable mane, was noticeably absent.

The Princess turned to Lady Dorothy Catalonia of Iberia, who always seemed to know what everybody else was up to.

"Where is Lady Catherine?"

Dorothy did not disappoint. "Oh, you didn't hear?" She fanned her dark lashes in Relena's direction. "Her family sent for her to return home at once. Apparently, the Duke and Duchess are calling upon the Blooms…"

Relena felt a prickling sensation in her chest. "Whom?"

"Why, the Bartons, of course," Dorothy said, as if it were completely obvious.

The pressure inside Relena's chest squeezed her until she feared she couldn't breathe.

"What?" she gasped. "So soon?"

"Well, you wouldn't expect a man like Trowa Barton to stay on the market much longer, would you, your Highness?" Dorothy spread her palms.

"Hush, Dorothy," Hilde snapped from the other side of Relena. The dark-haired girl gave the Princess a sympathetic smile, and abandoned her needlework to grasp Relena's hand. "It does seem rather sudden," Hilde said to Relena. "But… perhaps they have another reason to visit?"

"Please," Dorothy scoffed. "What other reason would they have? I'd be willing to wager that the King arranged this himself, as recompense for the Barton's family's most _public_ embarrassment."

Relena's mouth dropped open while Hilde shot Dorothy a withering glare. "Take some care with your words, milady," she cautioned the other woman. Dorothy shrugged and tossed her long, flaxen hair over her shoulder.

"I don't mean to be cruel," she said matter-of-factly. "I am merely stating that it would be a sensible match. A Bloom girl could do no better than a Barton."

Relena's throat had gone dry. She once thought that she could do no better than a Barton, too.

Dorothy gave her a triumphant smile. "But you, your Highness, have secured the highest prize of all; the hand of Crown Prince Quatre of _Arabia_." She spoke the title with undisguised reverence. "Now, that is quite an admirable feat. I'd congratulate you, were I not insanely jealous." Her violet eyes gleamed.

As if spurred by Dorothy's words, the other ladies in their group began resounding their congratulations to the Princess. Relena accepted them with a faint smile.

"Thank you, everyone. I'm… quite overwhelmed at the moment. If you'll excuse me."

With that, Relena rose from her seat, gathering up her skirts, and started back toward her chamber, ignoring the murmuring of the women behind her.

The Princess barely made it to her terrace before she heard the sound of skirts rustling behind her, accompanied by light, quick footsteps. She paused in dismay, ready to tell whichever one of the ladies who'd followed her that she wished to be alone. But, then, she knew exactly who she would find before she even turned around.

"What is it, Dorothy?" Relena groaned, her back still to the garden.

"Your Highness, please accept my apologies for my careless remarks." Dorothy's voice was smooth as honey. Relena rolled her eyes before turning around. Dorothy dropped into a low curtsy.

"No need for such pretenses." Relena waved a hand, her irritation mounting by the minute. "What more is it you wish to say? I will warn you," she added, reaching up to shield her eyes from the sun that had begun climbing high in the sky. "My patience for certain… subjects is quite short at the moment."

"Right. I understand _completely,_ your Highness. Now let's get you out of the sun..." Dorothy pressed closer to Relena, laying a hand on her arm and steering her toward the terrace doors that led into the chamber from the garden. Relena grimaced but allowed her lady to lead her inside; she was there to attend to her, after all, even if, at times Dorothy's "assistance" could be rather overbearing.

Once inside, Dorothy led Relena to her chaise lounge, then sent after the maidservants for refreshments. Relena didn't care for anything in the moment but didn't stop Dorothy, either.

"I hope you don't mind my taking the liberty," Dorothy said as she took a seat opposite Relena. "I grew accustomed to having servants of my own back home." She batted her long lashes, and Relena stifled a laugh.

"Well, you needn't be shy in my court."

"No, and I appreciate that." Dorothy paused and gave the Princess a meaningful look. Relena returned it with a puzzled one of her own.

"Yes, Dorothy?"

The blonder woman sighed and sank her cheek into her palm. "Oh, Relena- your Highness, I mean. Don't you see? I pity you." At that, Dorothy reached across the space between them and grasped Relena's hands in her own.

"Pity me?" Relena's brows shot up. "I thought you said you envied me?"

"All right, perhaps it's a bit of both." Dorothy dropped Relena's hands, heaving a much louder sigh. "I'm envious, of course, of your good fortune. I would trade places with you in a heartbeat."

Relena's lips twitched. "I would let you, if I could…"

Dorothy's eyes flashed. "And that is why I pity you for what little regard you are treating this opportunity. Why, you're about to become the richest, most powerful woman in the world… and you're miserable." Dorothy shook her head to the side. "I simply don't understand it."

Relena pitied Dorothy in turn, although she wouldn't say it. "Perhaps you would, if you had a dream, only to have it snatched away before it could be realized."

"What dream?" Dorothy sat up straight and spread her hands. "The dream of being Queen? Or of marrying a rich, handsome man? Because it seems to me that all of your dreams will soon come to fruition."

Relena frowned at the other woman. "It is far from the same dream. I wish to be Queen of my homeland, to carry on my family's name, and to marry the man I love. Not to be carted off to a foreign kingdom and forced to marry an utter stranger, who-" Relena's voice caught, and she lifted a hand to her throat, as if that could quell the sudden onset of tears stinging her eyes.

Dorothy's eyes widened, and she reached for Relena's hands once more. "I'm sorry. It seems everything I say upsets you. I am only trying to help."

Relena nodded, trying to believe her. But it was hard to know what to believe, any more.

Dorothy patted her hand. "Your Highness, perhaps you just need time to adjust to the idea. I am sure you will start to see this for the adventure it is." Her eyes glimmered, and suddenly Relena realized what Dorothy was after.

But before Relena could call Dorothy out on her scheme, the maidservants arrived, carrying trays that held glasses and plates of pastries. They set them on the small table between the women. Relena ignored the baked goods but reached for a glass of lemonade, made with imported lemons and lavender from her own garden.

Dorothy had paused to enjoy her own drink. "It tastes like home," she said dreamily. "How I do miss the warmer climate…"

"You wish to join my court in Arabia. Is that it?" Relena sighed.

Dorothy set her glass back down on the table and clutched at her chest, laughing airily. "Why, I never once thought-"

"I'll have to speak to my father to see if that sort of thing is allowed…" Relena began, already dreading the conversation.

"Of course it is," Dorothy said hurriedly, arching forward in her seat. "Why, any Princess coming from so far away must surely be allowed to bring her own court. But if it happens to be a financial concern…" Dorothy's lips curved upward. "I am certain my family can afford to pay my way."

Relena barely refrained from rolling her eyes. "I doubt that will be a problem. But may I ask why you wish to remain in my court? You could return home, if you pleased, or find another court in Europe…"

"But I came here to serve _you,_ Princess Relena," Dorothy gasped, as if any other notion were ludicrous.

"And to find a rich husband," Relena said dryly.

"And they don't come any richer than in Arabia, do they?" Dorothy grinned and reached for her lemonade. Relena shook her head at her friend, so shameless in her ambitions, and a smile crept over the princess's face.

"Well, I have to admit, I wouldn't mind the company. I feared the journey would be rather lonely, let alone settling into a whole new place..."

"A palace," Dorothy breathed, gazing out the terrace doors to something beyond and unknown. "An _Arabian_ palace… can you even imagine?!"

Relena hadn't imagined many pleasant things, ever since her father delivered the news of her unwitting betrothal. Perhaps, just for a moment, she would allow herself to dream that the future could turn out better than she dared to hope.

 _\- RGS_


	8. Chapter 8

_Elsewhere_

The Barton estate was surrounded by a small village, mainly a farming community with some merchants who specialized in trades important to the Barton family, such as the blacksmith, the dressmakers and tailors, and the mill. A single inn operated out of the village, and it was there that Marquis Zechs met the last member of his crew.

Immediately, Zechs was concerned about the man Howard had dug up. His name was Alexander Mueller, and Zechs had a feeling the man would prove to be unpredictable. According to Howard, Alex's specialities included close combat, surprise attacks, and sneaking around. But watching him down a mug of ale in two gulps left much to be desired.

When Alex rose to get another mug, Zechs leaned across the table to Howard.

"Are you sure about this man?" he asked. Howard nodded.

"He comes well-recommended," Howard said.

"By whom, dare I ask?" Zechs asked. Howard grinned.

"You don't want to know."

Zechs gave Howard a level stare, but leaned back into his seat and took up his own goblet of mead. He glanced around the inn.

"Where is Noin?"

Howard shrugged his shoulders.

"Still up in the ladies' room, I expect."

Zechs took another drink of mead, then saw Noin appear at the bottom of the steps. Once again, she was dressed in men's clothes, yet somehow, it made her seem more appealing. Her breeches hugged her hips and waist in a way that no women's clothing could do. Zechs felt a blush creep up his neck and spread to his cheeks, and it took every fiber of willpower to pull his gaze away from her and back to his goblet. Howard, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his approval of her chosen outfit.

Noin joined them and leaned her forearms against the table. Zechs noticed her slim fingers, likely deft and quick, if she truly was the expert lock-pick that Howard had claimed her to be. Noin glanced at him and flashed him a smile.

"Care to bring the lady a drink?" she asked him. Zechs' eyebrows rose quickly, and without a word, he rose from the table and stumbled over a chair, heading towards the counter. Alex was there still, flirting with a barmaid. Zechs waved her over, and the young woman approached him reluctantly, her eyes still on Alex and his sandy blond hair.

"A mead, please," Zechs said. The woman nodded and turned away, though Zechs watched her throw a glance or two over her shoulder at Alex. Could the man really be that alluring? Zechs shifted down towards Alex and rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I take it Howard has briefed you on the plan," Zechs said. Alex nodded, still drinking from his mug of ale. "And you think you can handle it?"

"Course I can," Alex said. He finished his ale in a large gulp and wiped his face with his sleeve. Zechs schooled his face to avoid a disgusted expression. "I'm just doing it for my share." Zechs pressed his lips together in a line and wondered what Howard had promised the man. The barmaid appeared before Zechs with the goblet of mead. He took it and handed over a coin as payment. The woman slipped it into the bosom of her dress, winking once at Zechs. He swallowed hard and turned away, content to leave the barmaid to Alex's attentions.

Zechs returned to the table and set the goblet down before Noin. She thanked him and took a long drink. Zechs watched her, until he realized he was staring at her. He looked away and saw that Howard was grinning at him. Zechs looked down into his mead and saw his own, foolish reflection staring back at him.


	9. Chapter 9

_Sanc Kingdom_

Princess Relena followed after Chief Minister Darlian, the King's trusted aide, as he led the way to her father's study. Darlian had recently returned from Arabia, where he had been meeting with her future husband and his father. Thus, she didn't have to guess wildly as to what this meeting was about, but she was anxious nevertheless. Much as Relena would have liked to continue to put off further discussions of her impending nuptials, curiosity had gotten the better of her. And if she was going to be forced to go through with this arrangement, she at least wanted an idea of what to expect.

Part of her was tempted to just run away from it all - with Trowa at her side, of course. But for all she knew, he was already betrothed to another. And as unhappy as she was, Relena knew that her sense of duty to her kingdom would win out, time and again. She was nothing like her brother...

Relena shook her head, clearing her mind of her brother's face. Minister Darlian glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled.

"You will be simply dazzled by life in Arabia," he said. "The clothes, the food, the weather. I think you will find it quite a change, but a pleasant one. You shan't see snow any longer, that's for sure."

Relena frowned. She happened to like the snow.

Instead of responding, she allowed herself to drift further back from Minister Darlian, stretching the distance between them. Even so, she didn't need to follow him to reach her father's chambers. It was a route she could follow in her sleep.

They arrived outside of her father's study. Darlian knocked on the door, and was admitted by a young page, who ducked out of the way as Darlian and Relena passed over the threshold. Her father sat in a large chair beside the fireplace, reading a letter of some kind. He lowered the letter into his lap when they entered the study and smiled.

"Thank you for coming so soon after your return, Darlian," Marticus said, rising from the chair. He clasped hands with Darlian briefly before returning to his seat. Relena swept into a curtsy before her father. "Daughter," he said, his eyes crinkling with a smile. Darlian took the chair opposite the king, leaving Relena to stand demurely beside her father.

"I learned much during my travels, your Highness," Darlian said. "I met the young prince. I believe that the princess will be delighted with him."

"Oh?"

"He's quite the gentleman; clearly he comes from good breeding and an appropriate upbringing," Darlian said.

"His father, Zayeed, has told me the same," Marticus said proudly, beaming up at Relena. She worked to keep a frown from creasing her features.

 _They have to say that,_ she thought bitterly, _even if this Prince Quatre is nothing but an ogre…_ A funny image came to mind, and then she had to work to keep from laughing. But such was the state of her moods these days; lately, she never knew when she was about to laugh or cry.

"The King's companions were preparing for their journey here," Darlian continued. "They should be departing Arabia within the fortnight."

"Very good!" Marticus boomed. "Not a moment too soon. And when they arrive we shall hold a feast in their honor, of course."

"Of course," Relena echoed, wryly. She could see from her father's expression that he had caught her tone.

"You are still displeased with this arrangement," he observed, his brow furrowing.

"Not at all," Relena said more brightly, although she knew her face would still give her away. Her father knew that face well, after all. He lifted a hand to pat her on the arm.

"You will grow accustomed to the idea in time, my dear girl. I did not want to marry when I was your age, either."

Relena pursed her lips. _But I did want to marry._ It was difficult to keep the thought to herself.

"I am sure Her Highness will find the prince most companionable," Darlian jumped in. "He has a fine reputation."

Relena wanted to ask what that meant, exactly, when her father broke in.

"Relena, you will spend the next few weeks meeting with Darlian here each day."

She looked over at the Chief Minister in puzzlement. "What for?"

"For lessons, of course." The King splayed his hands. "He is the only one in my employ who has visited Arabia, and is therefore your best hope of education on the region before you embark on your journey."

"I will tell you everything I know, your Highness," Darlian said, bobbing his torso in Relena's direction. She nodded back at him, wondering what these lessons on Arabia could possibly tell her about what living there would actually be like. She felt a fresh wave of panic. Nothing could fully prepare her for leaving the only home she had ever known, forever.

"Is there anything else you wish to tell me, Father?" Relena sighed, fearing the worst. Although she supposed her worst fears had already been confirmed; now, she was learning how to live with them.

"Well, I thought perhaps you had heard the news already," Marticus said, frowning. "I know what gossips your ladies-in-waiting can be…"

Relena's heart pounded. "What news?"

Marticus gave a curt nod to the Chief Minister. "Would you excuse us for a moment, Darlian? I should speak with my daughter alone." The Minister nodded and turned toward the door, and Relena turned worried eyes back to her father. Even though she sensed what was coming, she wasn't ready to hear it spoken. Not yet.

Once the study door had opened and shut with Darlian's departure, Marticus cleared his throat.

"I have spoken with Duke Barton…"

Relena steeled herself. "Yes?"

"It turns out he and the Duchess had a maiden in mind to wed their son." Relena closed her eyes and took in a sharp breath.

"Yes. So I have heard." She squeezed her eyes to keep the tears at bay before reopening them, glancing down at her father. Concern was written across his features, joining the worry lines already etched into his weathered face.

"Then you know." Marticus's shoulders sagged slightly. "I am truly sorry, Relena, that I could not approve your betrothal. But I had already given Zayeed my word. I could not risk the insult by going back on it. And you must understand, a princess simply must marry a prince, whenever possible. And as my only daughter…" Marticus took a step forward. "I had to do my best to secure your future, and that of our kingdom's."

Relena bit her lip but nodded. "I understand, Father. The fate of Sanc and my own are one in the same." She tried not to sound bitter as she spoke the truth of her reality out loud. It made her feel like more of a commodity than a person; perhaps, in the end, that was all a royal was. A figurehead, or in some cases, an ornament.

"You do?" Marticus swung blue eyes up to meet Relena's, the same sky-blue as her own. She nodded again, more firmly.

Relena swallowed around a hard lump in her throat. "Yes. I trust that you only want what's best for me. Even if we don't always agree."

Slowly, a smile crept across her father's weary face, and she was glad to see it. So many horrors over the past several years had long kept his smiles at bay.

"You are an angel, my dearest." Marticus reached for Relena's hand and planted a kiss. "Your mother would be so proud."

At that, Relena's eyes welled, but this time she allowed the tears to fall freely. A girl was allowed to cry for her mother, after all. Her father's eyes had also gone moist. Marticus stood and pulled his daughter into a warm embrace.

"I shall miss you, darling girl," he said, his voice cracking as he hugged her tightly. "How I wanted you to stay here and learn my place. I want you to know that," he added more firmly, pulling back from her. His gaze was hard and serious. "You would have made Sanc a fine ruler; I have no doubt."

"Then why?" Relena reached up to scrub at her tears, breaking her hardfought composure. "Why couldn't you just let me stay, and learn my place as your heir? Even if Trowa were already promised, could I not have found another consort? Or even remained unmarried? Why, Father?! Why must I go to _Arabia?!_ "

Finally the fury Relena had tried to keep buried rose to the surface, but her father appeared to take it in stride. Marticus gave Relena's shoulders a squeeze before dropping his hands to his sides, and sinking back down into his chair.

"You will still be our Queen, only now you will also be Queen of Arabia, increasing our power and influence," he said gently but firmly. "That is why you and Prince Quatre were betrothed in the eyes of the kingdoms for many years, long before Milliardo… long before your brother disappeared." He sighed. "My hands are tied."

"But who will rule the Sanc Kingdom once you're gone, if I'm off in another country?" Relena asked incredulously. Much as she hated bringing up her father's eventual death, she had to know what the protocol would be, now that their plans had been altered. Marticus sighed, stood and began to pace.

"You could rule Sanc from Arabia, with a regent in place, if need be," he said. "But that arrangement is far from ideal." The king stopped his pacing and gave Relena a sidelong glance. "Thus, I have my best scouts looking for your brother, to bring him home. It matters not what has been said or done. He will have to be the king after I die."

Relena had to fight back the urge to scream at her father, or collapse into tears. She should have known if she were married off, her disgraced brother would be reinstated as the Sanc Kingdom's heir. She imagined him as he was when he disappeared, selfish and power-hungry. The country would be in _his_ hands?

"And if Milliardo should never come back?" she spat.

"I trust that he will," Marticus said quietly. "He has to."

"Ever the prodigal, Milliardo," Relena said more bitterly. Just speaking her brother's name left her tongue searing. She wished she could spit on the floor.

"Relena," her father said, more sharply than he usually spoke. "If and when he does return, he will be your ally. Our kingdoms will soon be united. You - and I - must give him this chance to redeem himself."

Relena began to stamp one of her feet on the floor. Her father glanced down warily. She forced herself to go still before he could rebuke her for her impertinence.

"Well," she said finally. "I suppose it is lucky, then, that I will not be here when he arrives." She stormed towards the door, turned, dipped into a curtsy, then whirled out of the room, slamming the door behind her as she left.

* * *

Happy New Year, squad! Thank you for all of your support in 2018. We can't wait to see what 2019 brings!

\- RGS


	10. Chapter 10

_The Arabian Palace_

Heero Yuy stood before the weapons rack, off to the side of the training area, selecting what he would need for his upcoming journey. He would want his katana, of course; it was his oldest, trustiest blade. Not that he believed in luck or any foolhardy superstitions, but if he were to ever carry something resembling a talisman, this would be it.

He reached for the well-worn leather hilt and ran his other hand along the smooth blade, his blue eyes gleaming in its reflection. Flashes of memories burned in his mind, some more brutal and harrowing than others. Indeed, years of battles had earned this sword its place among his traveling essentials.

Heero sheathed it back in its scabbard, then considered his other choices. He always felt better carrying his _shuriken_ , and he knew he would also have to bear the scimitar, as a member of the King of Arabia's royal guard. But since he would be spending much of the journey on horseback, he needed to keep his pack light. And he wondered how it might look if he turned up in a foreign kingdom as decorated as he planned to be. His lips tugged into a sly smile.

He knew his preference of dress would be vetoed by the King, so Heero had already resigned himself to appearing in the uniform of the Arabian royal guard, much as he detested it. The silken tunic and ballooning pants hardly afforded his preferred level of disguise. For the duration of the journey, at least, he planned to wear his familiar leathers, and change into uniform only for his ride into the Sanc Kingdom. He grimaced at the thought. He was going to look ridiculous...

"Have you made up your mind yet?"

The dripping voice behind him wrestled him from his thoughts. Heero rolled his eyes and lifted a sabre from the rack, testing its weight in his hands, but didn't respond or turn around.

"Why bother with a sabre when your scimitar is far superior?" Wufei pressed, spurring Heero to throw a look over his shoulder.

"I need to lighten my load," Heero muttered.

Wufei nodded to where Heero had set his katana. "Leave that," he suggested. Heero shot him an exasperated look, to which Wufei rolled his eyes. "Never mind, then. It's not a monumental decision, you know."

"What's it to you?"

Wufei shrugged and made his way over to the rack, perusing the rows of weapons himself. "Nothing. I thought perhaps you might want to spar before you leave. Last time we trained, it was clear you could use the practice." In the evening light, Wufei's obsidian eyes glinted. He lifted his favorite wooden staff from the rack and spun it in the air with time-honed precision.

Heero scoffed. "I'll pass. I'd rather not leave Arabia covered in bruises, much as I know you'd enjoy it."

Wufei barked a laugh. "Fair enough. I'll spare you the backache. You're going to have a long ride, after all." The Chinese man replaced the staff carefully among others on the rack, as if it would snap in half if he didn't secure it just so. Then he turned back toward Heero.

"I don't envy you your task."

Heero quirked a brow. "Why is that?"

Wufei folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the nearest post. "Because. You have to escort some sniveling wench for weeks. Talk about a royal pain in the-"

Heero snorted. "I thought you called her an 'unparalleled beauty.'"

"So I did. So I have heard." Wufei rolled his shoulders. "And if that's true, one can only imagine how entitled she must be. And undoubtedly unhappy at the prospect of being dragged to a foreign land to marry some prince she's probably never heard of, let alone-" Wufei's mouth snapped closed as Heero peered at him. After a beat, Heero shook his head.

"You've thought about this far more than I have," he said pointedly. Wufei's face flushed.

"Yes, well. I know a bit about arranged marriage, after all." He turned his head to the side, breaking eye contact with Heero. "My wife, Meilan, was afraid of me at first." Heero said nothing as Wufei spoke, knowing from past discussions that it was best not to comment. "At first I couldn't understand why…" The Chinese man huffed a laugh, his eyes still focused on the training room floor. "In fact, I was downright insulted… why wouldn't she be thrilled to marry the heir of the Chang clan? It was a great honor any woman of our village should have been happy to receive, and I found her attitude disgraceful. I thought she was a brat," he added, raising his head slowly.

Heero frowned when Wufei fell silent. "And…?" he prodded, although he knew he shouldn't.

Wufei's shoulders dipped. "It wasn't until the night of our wedding that I realized… I, too, was afraid." His gaze softened briefly before his eyes tightened again. "But then I wasn't very sympathetic to her feelings. And when the time came to… Well. She was weeping. And I may have told her to stop acting like a child." Wufei laughed again, but it was a hollow, mirthless sound. "She _was_ only a child, as was I."

Heero watched as Wufei unfolded his arms, letting them fall to his sides, before balling both of them into fists. Wufei's eyes darkened, and a muscle throbbed in his jaw.

"If I ever get my hands on the bastards who took her-"

"Wufei." Heero took a step forward, raising one hand, as if with that he could part the darkness that had rolled over the other man like a cloud. But as he moved closer, he could see that rage had overtaken the man's features. Wufei's eyes were tight and focused, his breathing heavy and labored, as if he were about to charge into battle, or already fighting one in his mind.

Heero took a chance and clapped a hand to one of Wufei's shoulders. The other man immediately stiffened at the contact. But after a moment the tension ebbed, and he straightened himself.

"Sorry," Wufei muttered, breaking away from Heero.

"Don't worry about it," Heero said.

"Perhaps it is for the best that I am remaining here, with the Crown Prince," Wufei added quietly, his eyes calmer but still haunted.

Heero nodded his agreement. "He needs someone to watch his back."

"And so the King decided to send his best-trained assassin to fetch the future Queen, and leave the disgraced Chinese nobleman and former scholar to guard his only heir." Wufei chuckled. "A wise choice, indeed."

"Yeah, well, you're not half-bad with a fighting stick," Heero said wryly.

Wufei's eyes snapped to his. "It's a _staff,_ " he said sharply. "And I could best you wielding it with a hand tied behind my back."

Heero scoffed. "I'd like to see you try."

Wufei tipped his head at him. "Some other time. We can't have you horrifying the poor Peacecraft princess with the signs of your beating, after all. You must appear as the shining knight, and represent our kingdom well." His face spread into a grin. "Otherwise you'll send the girl running for the hills, screaming, and it will mean your head."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Heero glowered at the other man.

Wufei's grin widened. "I am merely trying to picture you galavanting about a European court, but am failing to conjure up an image… You may want to take up acting lessons before you go."

Heero's brows lifted. "As in theatre?"

A guffaw escaped from Wufei, and he clutched at his sides as his laughter grew more boisterous. Heero gaped at him. "I don't know why you find this so amusing."

Wufei only laughed harder. Heero gave up on continuing the discussion, but decided that Wufei was right about one thing - it was probably best that Heero was the one going to Sanc, along with a small band of the King's most trusted men. Heero had recently met Darlian, the ambassador from the Sanc Kingdom, and felt more at ease than when he'd first learned of the journey that lay before him. The man was genteel, if a bit bland, and Heero was satisfied that he and his companions would not be walking into any threat. All in all, he expected an uneventful trek, one that he was actually looking forward to - at least, the first half. For those first few weeks, it would be nothing but him and the rest of the contingent from Arabia, their horses and his own stallion, Wing. And the few men that were accompanying him were nearly as taciturn as he was.

Heero smiled to himself, already anticipating a quiet, blissful ride through open fields, the wind at his back.

Not much excited him these days, but he could hardly wait.

* * *

 _A/N: Yes, we are fully aware of the innuendo that abounds in this chapter... Yes, we went and wrote it anyway. Cheers!_

 _\- RGS_


	11. Chapter 11

_Village of Newport_

Zechs stood in his single room in the inn, leaning against the window casement, tapping his foot against the floor. It seemed to him that the sun would never set, that it would never be full dark. The rest of his team sat in the room as well, waiting in their own ways. Alex paced back and forth across the wood floor; Howard sat twirling a dagger between his fingers; Noin leaned against the headboard of the bed, reading a book she'd produced from her pack. Zechs glanced at her, idly wondering what she was reading, but he couldn't see the title.

Zechs looked back out the window at the bustle of the street below. The sun was nearly gone behind the horizon, and yet the streets were still filled with people. In order to sneak to the Barton manor, Zechs and his team needed a relatively empty street, lest they stick to the shadows as closely as possible. He sincerely hoped that Howard had chosen the right night for the job.

The job had one shining light, and that was that the Bartons would not be home. They had left with much of their household to visit the Bloom family for a prospective marriage arrangement - desperate to arrange a new match in light of the King's rejection, no doubt. Zechs might have chuckled at the irony of it all, were he not so anxious.

Once the sun finally set, darkness settled quickly. Zechs was pleased to see that the people on the streets began to shutter themselves up in their homes and cottages. Horses were led to the stables and lights in the shops dimmed and disappeared. Howard stood up from his spot on the chair and tucked his dagger away.

"It's time," he said.

Zechs stepped away from the window and followed the other out of the room, down the steps, and into the street. The world glowed a heavy blue color, as the last rays of the sun dissipated into the night. Howard led the way, keeping in the shadows of the buildings. Silently, the foursome made their way closer to the Barton manor, skirting the worst of the guards, standing at the parapets, watching the activity below.

As they neared the manor, Noin took the lead, following the shadow trail towards a side door. Zechs pressed his back against the stone wall of the manor, keeping both eyes open for signs of danger.

At the side door, Noin paused, along with the rest of the group. She slipped a worn, leather packet from an inner pocket and flipped it open. In the growing darkness, Zechs couldn't see what she was doing, but he could hear the faint clicking of metal against metal. Noin shifted, folded her leather packet up and tucked it away. With confidence, she grasped the handle of the door and pulled it open. It squeaked on its hinges, forcing the group to freeze. When nothing happened, Noin pulled the door open further and slipped inside, followed by Howard, Zechs, and Alex in the rear.

They found themselves in a long, dank hallway, the walls made of stone, with wooden doors at regular intervals. Howard fumbled around in the dark, and Zechs heard a clink of a chain, and then the strike of flint against steel. A fire flared in the darkness as Howard lit a torch he must have pulled from the wall. In the dim light of the torch, Howard pulled a map from his pocket and handed it over to Zechs. He unrolled the map and spread it flat against a wall. Howard tapped his finger on a room not too far from where they'd entered the manor.

"That's where the gold is kept," Howard said.

"Are you sure?" Alex asked. Zechs could feel the other man growing impatient.

"Absolutely," Howard replied. Zechs folded the map back up and handed it over to Howard, who kept it in his hand and took the lead down the hall.

They walked for several minutes in silence; the only sounds Zechs could hear were the flickering of the torch and their boots on the stone floor.

A new sound cut through the silence. Howard stopped in his tracks, and Zechs bumped into him. Noin and Alex both stumbled into Zechs at the abrupt halt.

" _Shh,"_ Howard hissed. Voices carried along the air, echoing off the stone walls. Howard quickly thrust the torch to the ground and stomped on the flame with his boot, throwing them into darkness once more.

The conversation Zechs could hear consisted of complaints of the lack of female companionship that existed in the local village. Zechs shook his head in disgust, and he heard Noin scoff. The conversation was crude and very unwelcome to the ears. Standing stock still in the hall, the light from the guards passed by at the end of the hall. To Zech's relief, the guards kept walking and didn't bother to look down the hall.

As soon as the guards' conversation faded in the distance, Howard took up his torch and lit it once again. They continued on their way down the hall, and at the end, took a left turn, in the opposite direction of the guards. Howard increased his pace, and Zechs and the others were forced to keep up. Finally, he stopped at a door. He thrust the map into Noin's hands, and she unfolded it hurriedly. Howard checked the map, and nodded to Noin. She slipped her packet from her shirt once more and set to work on the lock. Zechs watched her with admiration.

"Hurry up, will you?" Alex grunted. Zechs threw him a dark look and nudged him.

" _Shh."_

The lock clicked. Noin stowed away her tools and stood up straight. She pushed open the door.

Howard raised his torch.

"By God."

Gold coins glinted in the torch light. Several chests lined the edge of the room, some open, spilling with coin. Some were closed, but Zechs was confident that Noin could make quick work of the locks. The foursome crept into the room, marveling at the amount of gold that one family could control.

Howard knelt down and opened his pack. He pulled out several canvas bags and handed them around. Zechs took a few and headed into the piles. He scooped the cool coins into the bag, feeling the weight grow heavier with each handful.

Noin appeared beside him and mimicked his actions. She glanced at him, and in the dim light, Zechs thought he saw her smile. He returned the smile, just in case his eyes weren't deceiving him.

"Hurry up," Alex said from somewhere else in the room. "Who knows when those guards will be back."

Howard grunted an agreement, and the group increased their pace. Soon, several canvas bags sat near the door, waiting to be carried out. Howard stooped to pick up several, motioning for the others to do the same. Zechs hefted a few bags in his hands while Alex and Noin did the same, until they were each loaded down with several pounds of gold coin. Howard jerked his chin towards the door, and the four of them slipped through, leaving the door ajar as they made their way down the hall. Zechs could feel excitement mounting in his stomach, for they were about to make out with a king's ransom in coin.

And as soon as Alex, Noin, and Howard were paid, Zechs could fulfill his promise.

He would bring his share and any extra to a poor village who took him in and kept his secret for so long. After this job, he would finally be able to repay the villagers for their kindness.

* * *

 _\- RGS_


	12. Chapter 12

_Sanc Kingdom_

Between stitching with her ladies-in-waiting, and sitting through Arabian lessons with Chief Minister Darlian, Relena's remaining days in the Sanc Castle promised to be very long and tedious. If she could have her druthers, she would soak up every last moment in her childhood home doing only the things that made her heart sing. Such as taking long, leisurely strolls through the gardens, doing her utmost to keep the roses in bloom beyond their scheduled season, if only to stretch their beauty on for even one more day. And she would spend the rest of her time in the stables, grooming Pagan and sneaking him extra sugar cubes, and riding him to the very edge of the kingdom. And then once her imagination went there, it would take off into a canter, and before Relena knew it, she and Pagan would be making a break for it, seeking sanctuary beyond the border; or, better yet, becoming wild and free as the woods that surrounded them…

But then someone or something would demand Relena's attention, and force her from her reveries. There was no escaping her chosen fate, no matter how many other possibilities she was capable of conjuring.

Several days had passed since she had seen Trowa, and Lady Catherine had not returned to the castle, either. Relena wondered if their families had come to an agreement, if the wedding plans were already underway. She secretly hoped that if it were to happen, it would be soon, or better yet while she was on her journey to her new home, so that she would not have to see the new couple together. But, then she and Trowa wouldn't get to say good-bye, and that thought was even more unbearable.

As she went about her daily tasks, Relena carried her sorrow like a weight upon her shoulders. But she was no stranger to the feeling; in fact, she had been keenly aware of her burden for a long time. Only recently had she begun to feel some relief, when she had learned that Trowa returned her feelings, and they began to plan and dream together. It seemed the weight was only lifted at times she felt she was no longer alone.

But without Trowa, Relena knew she must turn to others, else she would continue to turn inward. And if she became lost within herself, how would she fare as a princess in a foreign kingdom? She needed to remain alert, and at her most poised. No matter what awaited her in this strange, new place, one part of her path was clear: she would, one day, be Queen. And if she could not be Queen of her homeland, she would make the most of her title elsewhere.

With that in mind, Relena began deciding what she should pack for her new home. Which turned out to be quite the chore, requiring her to enlist some help...

"How on _Earth_ did you ever come to possess so many dresses?"

Lady Hilde emerged from rummaging through Relena's wardrobe, hefting a large pile of garments, with some loose bits of ribbon, lace and pearls clinging to her dark hair. Relena nearly laughed herself off of her four-poster bed at the sight.

"Goodness, I don't know…" The princess stood and scooped half of the items from Hilde's arms, dumping her share of the pile on the bed. Hilde followed suit. "I suppose one comes to accumulate such things over time," Relena added, shrugging. "Especially when other people keep sending them."

"Lucky," Hilde sighed. "Here I thought you'd commissioned most of these to the dressmakers yourself."

Relena pulled a face. "Why, who has the time? I simply chose from whatever I was sent. You know I much prefer this sort of thing..." She tugged at her simple muslin gown, which was unadorned but fit her comfortably. It was rather plain, but still a pretty shade of cornflower blue, her favorite. Her mother had always said the color brought out her eyes; to this day, Relena wore blue whenever possible.

But clearly, her companion was drawn to gowns of more colorful and elaborate designs.

"Why, this one is simply _glorious_ …" Hilde breathed reverently as she reached for a violet-colored gown of satin, with a bodice of black velvet, and held it against her torso.

"Take it," Relena said, waving a hand.

Hilde's eyes bulged. "My lady, are you sure?"

"Of course. I have far too many as it is. I couldn't possibly take _all_ of these with me… My trunks would break the litters!" Hilde laughed, but then Relena frowned. "Although, I'm not sure you would want to wear _that_ one in Arabia… It will likely be too hot." The princess began sifting through the two piles on the bed. "In fact, many of these are far better suited for winter… and we won't have winter there, will we?" The thought made her sad again, especially when she realized she would miss out on the first snowfall of the year from then on, but she chased the notion away before it could get the better of her.

Hilde had grown quiet. Relena looked up from her sorting and turned to see the dark-haired girl was still clutching the purple dress to her chest, her eyes downcast. "Lady Hilde?"

"Relena… Your Highness," Hilde corrected herself, taking in a shaky breath. "I'm afraid I won't be able to join you at court, after all."

Relena's heart thudded, but she worked to keep her voice calm. "Why not?"

 _No,_ _no, no,_ she protested inwardly. She couldn't bear to leave yet another friend behind. Why, she was losing the people closest to her at every turn. How much more would she have to give up before she had nothing left?

"I… well…" A blush crept over Hilde's cheeks. "Duo Maxwell and I have an agreement…"

"Oh, Hilde, how wonderful!" Relena clapped her hands together, delighted for her friend. She wrapped her arms around Hilde's shoulders and hugged her warmly. "I'm simply elated for you! Both of you. You two are a perfect match."

Relena thought of friendly, funny Duo, and how he was always the first guard to crack a smile whenever he was in her company. And how relentlessly he had followed Hilde around when she first came to court. In truth, Relena had expected an announcement from the two of them eventually, but in the midst of her own marriage plans, it came as a surprise.

Hilde gave her a faint smile. "Thank you, my lady… your joy means so much to me. But, now, I shall have to remain in Sanc." Her blue eyes were troubled.

Relena pursed her lips. "Did you want to come to Arabia with me? Truly? Or was it only for my sake that you agreed to leave here?"

Hilde fidgeted. "Well, I didn't want to leave Duo, but I did want to go with you, my lady. Truly," she said, insistent. "I thought it was my chance to see the world. I told Duo I would go and serve at court for a while, a few years at most, and then he could come to Arabia, and _then_ propose. It would have been terribly romantic." She sighed, her eyes distant and dreamy. "But, he said he couldn't wait to marry me." Hilde's flush deepened.

Relena loosed a sigh of her own. "Well, what girl could say no to that?"

She thought of Trowa, and the bashful way he'd brought up marrying her. " _Of course, you'll need a consort,"_ he'd said, when they were first talked of how Relena would one day be Queen, since her brother had chosen to abdicate the throne. " _I would gladly volunteer for the job…"_

But Relena forced her attention back to Hilde.

"Duo did say we could travel together to visit you, once we've saved some money…" Hilde continued to twist her hands together. "My dowry should be enough for us to start our life together, but as a guard, Duo makes a modest living…"

Relena reached over to clasp Hilde's hands in hers. "It's quite all right, Hilde. Whenever you and Duo want to visit, write me first, and I will ensure that your journey is paid in full."

Hilde's face reddened. "Oh, no, your Highness. I could never ask you to do such a thing-"

"Nonsense. I want you to feel free to come to my new kingdom, any time." Relena had to wonder what her new King - her soon-to-be father-in-law - would have to say about her open invitation, but she couldn't imagine why it would be any trouble. Especially if all that Minister Darlian had spoken of the Crown Prince was true. Why, certainly he would want Relena to feel welcome, and extend that welcome to her friends - wouldn't he?

Which gave Relena an idea…

"Hilde," she gasped suddenly, causing the other girl's eyebrows to dart upward.

"Yes, my lady?"

"Why don't you come to Arabia with me, as planned… and bring Duo?" Relena grinned, splaying her hands. "Don't you see? He could join the royal guard there, and you could still be one of my ladies..."

Hilde's eyes danced, and Relena could tell she was immediately taken with the idea. "But… but then I would no longer be a lady-in-waiting. After Duo and I are married, I mean."

"No, but you would be one, still, when you arrive. And then who could blame you for marrying one of the King's companions? That sort of thing happens all the time… Why, look at Lady Catherine and-" Relena stopped herself before she could go getting all upset again. "But see? This could work." She squeezed Hilde's hands.

"You're sure Duo would be allowed to travel with us? And just… join the Arabian King's guard?" Hilde's brow furrowed. "What if the King sees Duo as a threat?"

Relena frowned at that. "I don't see why he would. After all, he will be sending a whole slew of _his_ guards to escort me, and I don't know any of them. And how do I know for certain they truly mean to keep me safe, and not take liberties with me, or my ladies?" Hilde's eyes bulged as Relena spoke. "Does he expect me to go on their word alone? I should think I would be allowed at least _one_ of my own men to accompany me, if not more, if I were to insist upon it."

"But the Minister Darlian will be accompanying us, won't he?" Hilde asked, still frowning. "Perhaps the King supposes that should be enough to appease you..."

"Well, it's not. And anyway, the Minister hasn't been trained in the arts of combat. How would he protect us if something should go awry? No, I will speak to my father about this at once." Relena's face broke into a wide grin. "You and Duo will both be able to join me in Arabia; I have no doubt."

Hilde released a tiny squeal of excitement, and the two girls began to talk excitedly, laughing together as they rifled through more of Relena's clothes. It felt good to laugh again. Relena didn't know what she would have done, embarking into the unknown without a friend like Hilde by her side. And with Duo and even Dorothy Catalonia as part of her company, Relena could feel the mounting pressures of the journey ahead start to ease.


	13. Chapter 13

_Village of Newport_

Zechs, Howard, Noin, and Alex sat huddled around each other in the middle of Zechs's room at the inn. At the center of the circle lay the pile of gold, glittering in the flickering light of the candles. For several moments, the crew stared at the pile, their mouths agape. Though they'd been in the room with the full horde, and had been the ones to steal a vast majority of it, sitting around the pile with more gold than most people ever saw in multiple lifetimes was, simply put, beautiful.

Zechs ran his hand over the pile, allowing gold coins to fall from between his fingers. This was nothing to him, but to those he would help, it would mean the world. And it would allow him to get by a little longer without having to turn tail back to his father and beg for forgiveness. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

Alex pulled a portion of the pile towards himself and ran his fingers through the gold. Zechs watched him carefully. Zechs knew better than to let the unknown members of the group be alone with the money. Thankfully, Howard was also paying attention.

"Let's divide up our shares, then, and we can be on our way," Howard said, pulling the pile back towards the center and away from Alex, who scowled, but nodded his head. Howard took out a piece of parchment and began his calculations. Zechs rose from the floor and stretched out his legs. He was surprised at how easy it had been to rob the Bartons, and it was a double blow, if the rumors he'd heard were true. That a powerful noble such as a Barton would propose to his sister and be rejected. It was strange, even for his eccentric father.

"Shall we leave Howard to his counting?" Noin asked, rising up beside Zechs. "I could use a drink." Zechs looked down into her eyes, those violet pools that twinkled back up at him.

"Al-alright," he stammered. Noin smiled and led the way towards the door of the room. Zechs followed, and just before he left the room, he glanced over his shoulder.

"Coming, Alex?" he asked. He didn't feel particularly good about leaving Alex and Howard alone, either. Who knew if Alex would decide to cut Howard's throat and run off with all the money? Alex glanced between the pile of money and Howard, sighed, and rose up from the floor. He followed Zechs out the door, and together the three of them made their way down the wood steps to the bar. Noin and Alex found a table while Zechs went to the counter. A young woman stood behind the counter, serving the customers who sat in high chairs. Zechs waved her over and ordered three meads. She poured the drinks from a flask and handed over the glasses. As Zechs walked back towards their table, he heard a few of the villagers talking. He slowed his pace when he heard his sister's name.

"You're not serious," one woman said, leaning over the table towards the other woman. The other woman nodded.

"She's to marry an Arabian prince!"

"Not just any prince," a man said, joining the conversation. " _The_ Arabian prince. The sultan has twenty daughters or thereabouts."

"And she'll go live in his Arabian palace?" a woman crooned. The others laughed.

"That's the word out of the palace," the other woman said, nodding.

The conversation turned to other things, and Zechs moved on. He set the glasses down in front of Alex and Noin.

"What took you?" Alex asked, greedily sliding his glass towards him and taking a long gulp.

"Distracted by palace gossip," Zechs said, taking a seat beside Noin. Briefly, their arms brushed against each other, and Zechs felt fire ignite on his skin.

"Palace gossip? Surely you are not one to be distracted by such a thing?" Noin asked, looking at him with one eyebrow raised. Zechs chuckled.

"I used to live near the palace, and that's all anyone would talk about," he lied. "Even without trying, one develops interest in what is going on with the lives of rich people."

"Ha," Noin laughed, and took a sip of her mead.

Zechs fell silent, contemplating. If the rumor was true, and Relena would be marrying an Arabian prince, then that just left his father on the throne, and who knew if Zechs' dear old friend would try to usurp the spot once his father died. Perhaps Zechs _did_ have to return and beg forgiveness.

Perhaps, anyway. If the rumors proved true, he would consider it more seriously. In the meantime, he had other matters to attend to.

* * *

 _Anatolia_

The port city bustled with activity. The Black Sea swelled and lapped against the boats in the harbor that were waiting to be filled with cargo. Boxes and barrels were loaded onto the ships by dark-skinned men who shouted at each other in a gruff speech. Women hustled from ship to ship, carrying baskets of food for the sailors, while a large group of men worked repairing nets in a large circle, just off the docks.

Heero breathed in the salty air, a smile tugging at his lips, although his eyes were focused on the activity teeming all around him and his small company. He was comfortably armed, as were the other men, and didn't think anyone would dare attack them, but these were dangerous times and they were foreigners in these parts.

It was not a place for the likes of the Crown Prince. And yet, he had insisted on coming to see them off, anyway. Heero knew the prince could hold his own in a battle, if he had to, but that would render his guard obsolete.

King Zayeed had sent several members of his own guard along with the small company that was traveling to Anatolia, and most of those men, including Wufei, would accompany Prince Quatre back to Arabia. Only Heero and three others would journey across the Black Sea to the European continent, and on to the Sanc Kingdom.

Prince Quatre was staring out to sea, past the ships tethered to the docks, just waiting to set sail. Heero caught his eye, and the prince flashed him a grin.

"I wish I could go with you," Quatre said, his voice half a sigh. "I'm so envious; I'd love to sail to Europe…"

Heero and Wufei exchanged looks, while Rashid, one of the King's longtime guards, clapped the Crown Prince on the back.

"Now why would you ever want to leave Arabia, Master Quatre?" The tall, thickset man boomed. "All you could ever want is within our reach." He grinned, his teeth gleaming white against his tanned face.

"Except for a wife, evidently," Wufei said with a smirk. The other men all snickered, while Quatre looked baffled.

"The wife is my father's choice, not mine," the prince stammered. The rest of the guards, who had all known Quatre since infancy, continued to rib him as they made their way toward the docks. Heero refused to partake in the teasing; he hadn't known the prince or been a part of his guard for nearly as long, but he knew how sensitive the lad could be and did not care to risk offense.

"Heero." He looked up at the sound of the prince calling his name from a few steps ahead. The look on Quatre's face was serious, despite the jovial atmosphere. Heero frowned and jogged up to meet him.

"Yes, Your Highness?" The prince had never been one to insist on titles, but Heero had a feeling that the conversation they were about to have warranted the formality.

Quatre reached over and gripped Heero's forearm, landing him with a hard stare. "This is important," the prince said. Heero gave a nod of understanding, and Quatre loosened his hold on him. "The other men joke, but I want to ensure that nothing is said or done that would offend Princess Relena," Quatre said, his voice and expression urgent. "Like it or not, she is to be my wife, and your queen. She must be shown the utmost respect. You understand, don't you?"

Heero's eyes widened, surprised that the prince was even worried. Then again, he didn't know the other men in his company all that well. "Of course, Your Grace," he said.

The prince tipped his head to side, lowering his voice. "Thank you, Heero. I knew you would understand. I'm relieved that it is you acting as my proxy, and not, well…" Quatre's face reddened, and Heero followed his gaze to Wufei. "You know how he is with women," the prince finished.

Heero had to chuckle at that. "And he seems to think I will be the one to scare the princess away." The prince broke into a smile.

"Oh, somehow I doubt that," Quatre said. "There is a reason you were chosen for this errand. You have a kind heart. I trust that you will treat the Princess well in my stead."

Once again, Heero hid his surprise. While he hardly thought himself a monster, "kind" was not a word he would attribute to himself. But if the Crown Prince thought so highly of him, he was determined not to let him down.

Heero swept himself into a low bow. "I will treat the Princess as if she were my own bride," he said, without stopping to think of the implication. He flushed and raised his eyes to meet the prince's. But Quatre was still smiling, his eyes gleaming back at Heero.

"That is exactly my wish," the prince said.

And as Heero boarded the ship bound for the European coast, along with the rest of this company, he looked back to see Prince Quatre waving, the smile never leaving his face.

* * *

-RGS


	14. Chapter 14

_Sanc Kingdom_

Relena was leaving her father's study after another Arabic lesson with Minister Darlian when she caught a flash of red hair and an orchid-colored gown swishing around the corner.

"Lady Catherine!" Relena called after the disappearing figure. She watched as the girl swiveled her head and halted her steps. And even from several feet away, the redhead's aghast expression was plain as day.

"Your Highness." Catherine dropped into a curtsy as Relena approached. "I was just asking after you. Your maidservants mentioned that you were in lessons for the afternoon."

"Yes, I've just finished." Relena smiled thinly as Catherine straightened herself. She was a few inches taller than the princess, and striking as she was with her bright hair and alabaster skin, the girl appeared to be nervous as she stood before her sovereign. Then again, it was a look Relena had grown accustomed to seeing on everyone from her servants to her ladies, with the exception of Dorothy Catalonia.

"How was your trip to your family's estate?" Relena asked as politely as she could, knowing the reason for Catherine's visit. The other girl blushed.

"It was… rather eventful," Catherine said, her eyes downcast. Relena's heartbeat quickened.

"Oh? How so?" Relena did her best to feign ignorance, and mask her contempt. "Did you do anything amusing? Or… meet with anyone of particular interest?"

Catherine slowly raised her eyes to meet Relena's. "I'm sure you have heard by now," she whispered. Relena bit her lip and nodded.

"Yes," she ground out. "I have."

Catherine's features crumpled. "Relena, I'm so sorry. I know how this must make you feel, but please know that I wanted nothing to do with the engagement. And yet I must go through with it. I have no choice but to try to raise my family's station," she added, her voice rising along with the color in her cheeks. "It is my duty as a daughter..."

"I understand," Relena said softly, laying a hand on Catherine's arm. "There is no need to apologize. We both find ourselves in the same position… neither one of us has the luxury of entering into a marriage of our own choosing."

Catherine's flush deepened, nearly matching her burgundy hair. "Aye, my lady," she sighed. "Although, you must know, there is no need for you to despair just yet. Even if my family is…"

Relena gaped at her lady. "Why, whatever do you mean?"

Catherine's brows rose. "Then you haven't heard?"

"Heard what, exactly?" Relena frowned. "I'd heard that the Barton family was paying a visit to your homestead, to arrange the match between you and Trowa, but that's all."

"Yes, the Bartons did call on us," Catherine said, glancing about the hallway before continuing. "But they were called away, almost immediately." Her green eyes grew wider. "They received a most unsettling message..."

"What?" Relena asked, growing impatient.

"They were robbed," Catherine whispered, her eyes round as saucers "Their coffers were _ransacked_."

"Ransacked?" Relena echoed. "By who?"

Catherine shook her head, her red curls bobbing. "No one knows. The thieves got past their guards, somehow. But it sounds like they took _everything_ with them."

Relena swallowed. For the Bartons' sake, she certainly hoped it was not _everything_. Surely the Duke had a good portion of his sums stowed away in banks. She had to assume that one of Sanc's most powerful nobles would know better than to keep his entire fortune on hand.

"I should hope not," Relena said to Catherine, who was still shaking her head. "What does this mean for your engagement?"

"I don't know." Catherine frowned. "My parents were worried that my dowry would not be enough to lure a Barton, but the Duke and Duchess did not seem to be concerned. But that was before they'd learned they were robbed."

Relena patted the other girl's hand in hers. "How awful…"

"But," Catherine went on, "if the Bartons have truly lost their fortune, the engagement may not even appease _my_ parents anymore." She rolled her eyes. "You see, my father is hoping my future husband will pay off his gambling debts…"

"Oh, dear…" Relena had heard rumors of the Bloom family's troubles, and Catherine's words confirmed them all. "That is a quandary."

Catherine heaved a deep sigh. "What am I going to do?"

"Well…" Relena's mind was churning. "You could stay at court, with me."

"But you are going off to Arabia!" the redhead gasped.

"I know," Relena said, smiling. "You could come with me, and still be one of my ladies. Dorothy and Hilde plan to join me, and I should like to have at least three, if not four, ladies in my company."

"And in Arabia…" Catherine brightened. "Why, some of the richest men in the world live there..."

"Exactly," Relena said. "You should have no trouble finding a husband who can erase your father's debts. That is, if the Barton arrangement should fall through…"

Catherine looked skeptical. "Is this your way of keeping Trowa all to yourself?" She elbowed Relena's side playfully. "As your consort or lover, or what?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Relena gasped, hushing her friend. "In Arabia? I'd lose my head!"

"Then why grant me this favor?" Catherine asked, green eyes narrowing in suspicion. Relena just smiled.

"Because I need a lady, and you need a husband."

Catherine scoffed. "That may be true, but I know you are far cleverer than that, Your Highness." Her eyes gleamed. "You've got some scheme up your royal sleeve; I'm sure of it."

Relena laughed off her lady's accusations as they continued their walk about the castle. But later, in her chamber, she sat at her small pine desk and dashed off a letter, creasing it into crisp folds and fastening it with her personal seal.

"Deliver this letter to the Barton estate at once," she told the young page she'd summoned to her door. "And do not, under any circumstances, make _any_ stops."

The messenger nodded, bowed, and hurried off with Relena's letter in hand.

* * *

 _\- RGS_


End file.
